Hold This by Brooke

Hold This by Brooke - April 2025 Scholarship Essay

“Hold this.” That was the first thing said to a scared, 15-year-old me, hiding in the corner of a hospital room. With so many moving parts and people changing rapidly around me, I felt lost—forgotten in the chaos. My grandpa, too weak to support his own movement, was being helped by his speech pathologist. She was asking me to hold a cup of water. I timidly agreed and watched her carefully assist my grandpa into a seated position. I was surprised she was talking to me—surprised she had even noticed me.
She was working her magic, helping to create a calm, quiet bubble that blocked out the noise of machines and movement. I didn’t know what she was doing at first, so I cautiously gazed at her from the side. When I handed the cup back to her, she invited me into her peaceful world. Noticing the curiosity on my face, she explained that my grandpa’s throat muscles weren’t working properly. Without missing a beat, she pulled out x-rays of his neck and head and explained that if he couldn’t swallow properly, he couldn’t breathe properly either. I was in awe—how could something so small and silent be so vital and complex? I wanted to know more.
Later that day, sitting in the canteen with a sweet treat, trying to process the fact that my grandpa didn’t have much time left, someone sat beside me. It was his speech pathologist, again. She had a stack of papers—mock medical files—for her resident students. Sliding one across the table, she asked if I wanted to try. I looked at the open manila folder filled with unfamiliar words and numbers, and before I could even ask, she scooted her chair closer and began to guide me through them. Together, we deciphered file after file, case after case. She taught me about different types of speech disorders, how they develop, and even some exercises that can help reverse them.
That moment sparked something in me—an excitement I hadn’t felt since I was a kid, back when my grandpa would teach me about locomotive trains and how their engines worked. This new world of speech pathology felt just as intricate and fascinating, like something I should continue doing. Visiting hours ended too soon, and I left the hospital that day with a new mentor and a new passion—but also with the knowledge that my grandpa’s time was nearly up. He passed away only seven hours later.
My grandfather’s passing was one of the hardest experiences I’ve faced, but I’m grateful for what it taught me. It gave me clarity about my future and a deep appreciation for the speech-language pathologists who support people through communication challenges. By majoring in Communication Disorders at Marshall University, I’m not just pursuing a career—I’m honoring my grandfather’s memory and striving to give others the same care and support that his SLP gave me.
I know this career won’t be easy. It requires dedication, patience, and emotional strength. But I’m determined to become someone who puts others first—someone who not only helps patients, but also supports families during some of the hardest moments of their lives. From one small hospital interaction, one person changed the course of my entire future. And I’ll always remember it began with two simple words: “Hold this.”